Inside, she slipped out of her shoes, seeing a second too late that her socks had holes in the toes. Embarrassed, she followed Mia into the magnificent house. There were walls of glass that framed a stunning ocean view, a stone fireplace, gleaming floors. She was afraid to touch anything.
Mia grabbed her hand and dragged her into a huge kitchen. There were gleaming copper pots hanging from a black skeletal thing above the eight-burner stove and fresh flowers in several places around the room. They sat down at a long black granite counter while Jude made quesadillas.
She just walked right up to me, Madre. And I told her it was social suicide to sit with me, but she didn’t care. Is that cool or what?
Jude smiled at that, and started to say something, but Mia kept talking. Lexi could hardly keep up with Mia’s steady stream of stories. It was as if Mia had been holding observations and thoughts inside of her for years, and now they were coming out. Lexi knew about that, about holding things inside and being afraid and trying to stay quiet. She and Mia compared opinions on high school, boys, classes, movies, tattoos, belly button piercings, and they agreed on everything. The more they agreed on, the more Lexi worried: what would happen when Mia found out about Lexi’s past? Would Mia want to be friends with a drug addict’s kid?
At about five o’clock, the front door banged open and a group of kids burst into the house.
“Shoes,” Jude yelled from the kitchen without looking up.
Nine or ten kids surged forward, boys and girls. Lexi could tell they were the popular kids. Anyone would have recognized them—pretty girls in low-rise jeans and midriff-baring Tshirts, and boys in PIHS blue and yellow sweats. They’d probably come here from football and cheerleader practice.
“My bro is the one in the gray sweats,” Mia said, leaning closer. “Don’t judge him by the company he keeps. Those girls have the brains of breath mints.”
It was the guy from first period.
He peeled away from the crowd with the ease of one who knew how popular he was and sidled up to Mia, putting an arm around her shoulders. The resemblance between them was startling; Mia’s face was a feminine, sculpted version of his. He started to say something to his sister, and then he noticed Lexi. His gaze sharpened, grew so intense that she felt that fluttering start in her chest again. No one had ever looked at her like that before, as if everything about her was interesting.
“You’re the new girl,” he said quietly, pushing the long blond hair out of his eyes.
“She’s my friend,” Mia said, grinning so wide her braces were a multicolored blur.
His smile faded.
“I’m Lexi,” she said, although he hadn’t asked her her name.
He looked away from her, disinterested. “I’m Zach.”
A girl in tiny shorts and a midriff-baring top moved in behind him, draped herself along his side, and whispered something in his ear. He didn’t laugh, barely smiled in fact. Instead, he backed away from Lexi and Mia. “Later, Me-my,” he said to his sister. Slinging an arm around short-shorts girl, he led her toward the stairs and disappeared into the crowd of kids running upstairs.
Mia frowned at her. “Is something wrong, Lexi? It’s okay if I say you’re my friend, right?”
Lexi stared at the empty place where he’d been, feeling unsettled. He’d smiled at her, hadn’t he? At first, for a second? What had she done wrong?
“Lexi? Is it okay if I tell people we’re friends?”
Lexi let out the breath she’d been holding. She forced her attention away from the stairs. Seeing Mia’s nervousness, she realized what was important here, and it wasn’t a guy like Zach. No wonder he confused her. He would always be incomprehensible to a girl who’d grown up in the weeds. What mattered was Mia and this fragile beginning of their friendship. “Of course,” she said, smiling. For once, she didn’t care about her teeth. She was pretty sure Mia wouldn’t care. “You can tell everyone.”
*
The media room was full of kids, as usual. Some women might be overwhelmed by the noise and mayhem, but not Jude. Years ago—back when the twins were starting sixth grade—she’d made a conscious effort to make her house welcoming. She wanted the kids to hang out here. She’d known herself well enough to know that she didn’t want to be dropping her kids off into other women’s care; she wanted to be the one in charge. To that end, she’d designed the upstairs carefully, and it had worked. Some days, there were fifteen kids here, eating their way through her snack provisions like locusts. But she knew where her children were and she knew they were safe.